Litany of Winter

Rain struck the deck hard enough to sting through Severin’s coat.

He kept one hand on the safety line Crowther had ordered secured around his waist and waited for the Vigilant Gale to finish climbing the next swell before moving. The cutter rose, shuddered through the crest, then dropped heavily enough to make the steel beneath his boots feel absent for half a heartbeat.

He turned his head before stepping left. That part had stopped feeling ridiculous somewhere after dark.

A sailor crouched near the starboard rail with a coil of marked line at his feet. He swung the lead weight once, twice, then sent it forward into the black water. The line hissed through wet fingers as the cutter advanced.

”By the deep eleven!”

Fenwick marked the sounding on his slate farther aft.

Severin had heard enough soundings during the last half hour to know eleven fathoms was not the number Frank had been expecting.

The leadsman hauled the line back in. Rain ran from the brim of his cap while he reset it.

Frank Cooper stood beside Fenwick with one hand braced against the chart table. The hooded lamp gave almost no useful light beyond the slate and paper beneath it. Frank looked toward Finch at the helm.

”How much helm are you holding?”

”More than I was.” Finch kept his attention forward. ”She keeps falling off to starboard when the stern lifts.”

Frank looked forward again. ”Wind?”

”Current too, I think.”

The lead went out.

”By the mark ten!”

Fenwick bent over the figures on his slate.

Severin saw Leo come up beside Frank. Rafael and Armin remained closer to the bulkhead where Crowther had put them. No one had asked any of them for an opinion.

Another wave broke over the bow. Water ran ankle deep across the deck before draining through the scuppers.

”Again,” Frank called.

The leadsman cast.

”And a half nine!”

Fenwick turned the slate toward Frank. ”Too fast.”

Severin knew little about navigation, but even he could tell the numbers were moving the wrong way.

Frank pointed into the rain off the starboard bow. ”We’ve been set east of the approach.”

Fenwick checked the slate. ”That puts the outer shelf closer than I’d like.”

Leo raised his voice over the weather. ”Can we turn away?”

Frank looked toward Finch. ”We can.”

That sounded promising until he added, ”I don’t want to.”

Frank reached across Fenwick’s slate and traced a short line with one finger. ”Open water is there. To get back to it, I need a broad turn across the swell. We’ll spend the whole swing being set toward the shelf, and she’ll answer worse if we lose headway.”

”And the alternative?”

”There’s deeper water ahead. A narrow gut between the outer stack and the shelf.”

Severin looked toward the darkness Frank had indicated. He could hear breakers there.

Leo could too. ”You want to go closer.”

”I want the smaller turn and enough way on her to keep the rudder answering.”

”How narrow?”

”Narrow enough that I don’t want to lose steerage in it.”

”Understood.”

Frank turned back toward the helm. ”Finch, bring her two points to port. Tell me if she starts answering any slower.”

”Aye.”

”Fenwick, mark every cast.”

”You’ll have them.”

Frank raised his voice over the weather. ”Crowther!”

The boatswain was already moving.

”Clear the forward working deck. Nobody loose, nothing loose.”

Crowther shouted something the wind took away and began pointing people into place.

He reached Severin first. ”You still attached?”

Severin tugged the safety line at his waist.

”Good. Montoro, with him. I want those bloody spare lines kept clear of the scuppers. If water moves them, you move them back. You do nothing else unless I tell you.”

Rafael gave a short nod.

Crowther looked at Severin. ”That includes clever ideas.”

”I don’t have any.”

”Best news I’ve had all night.”

He moved on.

Severin and Rafael took their places beside the spare lines. Armin crouched farther aft, helping another sailor lash a covered case that had begun to slap against its chocks. He worked the rope quickly and without fuss.

The cutter altered course, and Severin felt the change before he could see it. The roll shifted under him. One moment the sea lifted them almost from behind, then it struck at an angle and drove spray hard across the deck.

The engine beat harder through the hull as the lead went out again.

”By the deep eight!”

Fenwick marked it on the slate. Frank kept his attention ahead, where the breakers had grown louder.

Severin stared into the rain until a white smear appeared where no white should have been. It vanished behind the next swell, then returned farther right. A bloody rock.

A second shape rose beyond it, vertical and black, too high to be mistaken for a wave.

Rafael leaned closer. ”Tell me that’s the one he means to miss.”

”I think there are several.”

”That was not helpful.”

”And a half seven!”

Crowther shouted for everyone on the forward deck to brace.

Severin got his weight low before the order finished, and Rafael did the same. A sheet of water came over the rail and hit them to the knee. One of the spare coils slid toward the scupper, caught against Severin’s boot, then started moving again as the deck rolled back.

He and Rafael shoved it clear of the drain channel together. Crowther glanced once, saw the scupper clear and went back to his sailors without comment.

”Finch?” Frank called.

”She’s answering.”

”How much?”

”Quarter.”

”Hold it.”

The black stack appeared again. This time Severin could see water breaking white at its base. The shelf remained invisible in the dark, revealed only by each shallower sounding.

”By the mark seven!”

Fenwick looked toward Frank. ”Still shoaling.”

”I heard him.”

Finch held the helm. ”She’s falling off to starboard.”

Frank stepped nearer. ”Worse?”

”Every time the stern lifts.”

”Another half point to port.”

Finch put it on. The bow moved too slowly.

Severin had no idea how quickly the bow should have answered. He only knew the white water at the foot of the stack had shifted from ahead of them toward the starboard side.

A sea struck the port quarter and threw the Vigilant Gale hard to starboard. Rafael’s shoulder slammed into Severin’s. The safety line snapped tight at his waist as the deck rolled beneath them, stopping him from being swept farther across it.

At the helm, Finch swore. ”She’s not coming fast enough.”

Frank answered at once. ”Half ahead.”

Fenwick turned toward him. ”Captain, we’re still shoaling.”

”I know. Half ahead.”

The engine answered beneath them, vibration sharpening through the deck as the lead went out again.

For several seconds Severin heard the rain over the machinery and the crash of water against rock.

”And a half six!”

Rafael breathed something in Serravaran that required no translation.

Frank watched the bow. ”Hold her, Finch.”

”I’m holding.”

”Crowther, brace for the next sea.”

”Ready!”

Crowther’s men lowered themselves or grabbed whatever they had already chosen to hold. Severin copied them. Rafael did too.

The next wave hit harder than the last.

Water smashed over the forward rail and struck Severin sideways. Salt water struck his good eye and blurred the deck. He caught the nearest secure hold with one hand and kept the other on the safety line at his waist until the rush passed.

Aft, metal rang once. Crowther shouted a sailor’s name and got an immediate answer, then sent two men to check what had broken loose.

Severin wiped his face with his sleeve. The stack had shifted farther behind them, though not far enough for comfort.

Finch said, ”She’s coming.”

Frank stayed where he was. ”Keep it.”

The bow began to come around as the cutter finally answered the helm.

Fenwick waited for the lead.

”By the mark seven!”

The leadsman had already sent the lead out again. Fenwick bent over his slate while Frank kept watching the water ahead.

Severin stopped himself from holding his breath and watched the leadsman instead. By now he knew what he wanted to hear: a higher number.

”By the deep eight!”

Frank kept his attention ahead. ”Half a point back.”

The cutter settled onto the new heading. The breakers began falling astern instead of running alongside them.

”By the mark ten!”

Fenwick checked the slate. ”That’s better.”

Frank looked at the figures. ”It’ll do.”

He ordered the engine eased once the deeper reading came back.

Crowther worked his way across the deck, checking the crew and anything the sea might have shifted. When he reached Severin and Rafael, he looked down at the cleared scupper, then at the spare coil sitting safely away from it.

”Leave it. Get yourselves aft while the water gives you the chance.”

Severin waited for the roll, turned his head to clear his left side, then moved aft. Rafael followed close behind.

They reached the bulkhead as another cast came back deeper. Only then did Leo approach Frank.

”You knew that passage would hold?”

Frank wiped rain from his mouth. ”I knew what the chart said and what the lead was telling us.”

”That isn’t what I asked.”

Frank looked back toward the vanished stack. ”I knew it was the better bet.”

Leo left him to it.

The rain weakened near dawn. It did not stop, but visibility returned enough for the island to take shape through it.

A black wall of cliff came into view off the bow, wet green slopes climbing above it into low cloud. Smaller rocks stood offshore like broken towers, crowded by seabirds whose cries reached the cutter whenever the wind shifted.

The Vigilant Gale rounded the last outer formation. Grayhook opened ahead.

A bay cut into the island where the coast finally relented, its water visibly calmer than the sea behind them. Houses clustered above the shore wherever the slope allowed them. Smoke bent inland from short chimneys.

Severin was still looking at the settlement when Rafael touched his sleeve and pointed lower.

Along the waterline, people worked around a small boat lying crooked near the shore, one side low in the water. Lines ran from it toward groups spread across the beach and rocks.

A shout carried over the water. Every line on the beach drew taut.